'I thought for sure you'd bring Fayne,' said Myrin. 'She's your.. ah?'
'No.' Kalen looked at her blankly. 'I know her about as well as I know you.'
'Oh.' Myrin held his arm a little tighter. He could have sworn she added, 'Good.'
'Saer and Lady-if you'll enter the grand courtyard?' A pretty acolyte gestured to a set of open golden doors carved with the visage of the goddess.
'Courtyard?' Kalen murmured, but he couldn't argue with Myrin's brilliant smile. She took his arm and pulled him along. At least Myrin was happy.
Fayne was fuming. Kalen had taken that little chiding-not a real woman like herself.
The carriage started to turn onto the most direct thoroughfare, Aureenar Street, but Fayne wasn't about to lose a single moment of style. Ostentation made her feel better.
'Keep around!' Fayne snapped to the driver. 'Up to the Street of Lances!'
The man in his pressed overcoat tipped his feathered hat. 'Your coin, milady.'
Since she had the carriage already, she might as well prolong her rich procession.
The carriage broke away from the loose train of vehicles and swerved northeast. Fayne smirked out the window, surveying the streets, the jovial taverns, and the folk walking.
Cellica, sitting across from Fayne, fidgeted her thumbs and chewed her lip. Their ride had included a visit to Nurneene's for masks, and the halfling wore a plain white eye mask with her gold gown. She'd added a lute to represent a bard Fayne had never heard of, but apparently halflings knew their own history quire well.
'How long will this be?' She looked at Fayne anxiously.
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Fayne laughed. 'Enjoy it, little one! Not every day working lasses like us ride in style.'
'I appreciate you inviting me along, Fayne.' The halfling smiled halfway. 'I'm just worried about-' She peered out the window.
'Oh, don't fret!' Fayne insisted with a girlish smile. 'I'm sure your jack can handle himself. Thar little wild- haired girl didn't look so vile.' A touch dangerous, mayhap-but that was intriguing, rather than off-setting. If only the little scamp weren't interfering!
'No.' Cellica smiled, apparently at the thought of Myrin. 'No, she isn't.'
Beshaba, Fayne thought, what is it that makes everyone cling to such pathetic waifs?
They continued north on the Singing Dolphin thoroughfare and turned east on the Streer of Lances. Fayne grinned at onlookers, whose responding srares she chose to interpret as jealous. They turned south again on Stormstar's Ride. At the end of the street, they saw the Temple of Beauty.
'Ye gracious gods,' Cellica murmured, eyes wide. She reached across for Fayne's hand.
'Shiny, eh?' Fayne took Cellica's hand automatically, and the halfling clutched her tightly.
Sune's Waterdeep temple was best approached from Stormstar, Fayne thought, and particularly at this time of evening, when the last rays of the setting sun fell upon its ruby towers and gold-inlaid windows. And from the look on Cellica's face, she was right.
The great cathedral, palace, and pleasure dome towered over the noble villas alongside, shining like a beautiful star of architectural brilliance. Soaring towers and seemingly impossible buttresses made for a facade of true grandeur, which masked an open-air ballroom from which the sounds of revelry could be heard even from far away.
The halfling smiled wanly all the way until the carriage let them off.
'Aye?' Fayne grinned. 'Pleased?'
But Cellica said nothing-she looked at her feet nervously.
The iron-faced dwarf attendant at the door looked at their invitation-which Fayne had forged-without any suspicion, then eyed them appraisingly. It was uncommon that two women came to a revel rogether, but hardly rare. 'Who're you lasses supposed to be?'
'Olive Ruskettle!' Cellica peeped, then she went back to staring at the temple.
The guard nodded-he seemed at least to have heard of the 'first halfling bard'-then looked at Fayne. He handed back the scroll. 'And you, lass?'
'Aye?' Fayne gestured down-black leggings tucked into swashbuckler boots, billowy white shirt and black vest, scarlet half-cape and matching dueling glove-and flipped her magic-blacked hair. She grinned through her scarlet fox mask. 'I'm not… famous?'
The guard shook his head.
'Good,' Fayne said, and she kissed the dwarf on the lips. 'Tymora's kiss upon you!'
They skipped inside, arm in arm, Fayne pulling Cellica along.
'Your names?' the herald asked Kalen and Myrin inside the courtyard. Music wafted across the open space from minstrels near the central staircase.
Kalen hadn't thought about such a question. 'Ah-'
'Lady Alustriel of Silverymoon,' Myrin said without hesitation. Smiling beneath her gold mask and crown, she took Kalen's arm.
The herald nodded. He peered at Kalen's ragged old armor with a touch of distaste. At least Kalen had let Cellica buy him a new cloak. 'Of course, your ladyship.'
He stepped forward and called to the assembled, 'Alustriel of the Seven, and escort.'
Heads turned-apparently, dressing as such a famous lady was daring-and Kalen felt Myrin stiffen. But most of the masked or painted faces wore smiles. There was even applause.
Myrin relaxed. 'Good,' she said, clutching her stomach.
'Outstanding,' Kalen agreed, though he wasn't sure he meant it.
She smiled at him in a way that made his chest tingle.
In the courtyard, Kalen and Myrin looked out over a sea of revelers dressed in bright colors and daring fashions. Kings and tavern wenches mingled and laughed around braziers, and foppishly dressed rapscallions flirted with regal queens and warrior women. Muscular youths in the furs and leather of northern barbarians boasted over tankards of mead, eyeing dancing lasses dressed in yellows and oranges, reds and greens, like nymphs and dryads. The dancers whirled across the floor while musicians struck up a jaunty chorus on yartings, flutes, and racing drums.
The ballroom was open to the night sky, and though the season was cool, braziers and unseen magic kept the courtyard comfortableteasingly so, inviting revelers to disrobe and enjoy the headiness of Sune's temple. And, Kalen noted, some of the revelers were doing just that.
They had arrived in time to witness the finale of a dance between two ladies. One-their hostess, Lorien Dawnbringer-wore gold accented with bright — pinks and reds. The other, a dark-haired elf clad in sleek black, was unknown to him. They whirled gracefully, in perfect balance, arms and legs curling artfully. Most of the nobles were watching their dance, enraptured, and when the women finished and bowed to one another, the courtyard erupted in applause and cheers.
Lorien, panting delicately, bowed to the gathered folk. The elf smiled and nodded. They joined hands and bowed ro one another. Then Lorien turned up the courtyard stairs and climbed slowly, turning to wave every few steps, as the elf lady disappeared into the throng of nobles.
Myrin tensed at his side. 'The dance!' she cried. 'We didn't miss it, did we?'
'What?' Entirely too much dancing was still going on, Kalen thought.
'Lady Ilira Nathalan,' said Myrin. 'And that priestess-Lady Lorien.'
Several nearby lordlings and ladies rolled their eyes at her outburst.
'Nay, nay,' said a youthful man at their side. He wore the simple but stylish robes of a Sunite priesr. 'You've not missed it. They dance again at midnight-Lady Lorien will return to dance with Lady Ilira, as the sun with the night. In the middle-time, enjoy yourselves.'
'Oh,' Myrin said. She smiled vaguely.
The acolyte took Myrin's hands and kissed them. 'Let me know if there is aught I might do to aid in this,' he whispered with a sly wink. Myrin blushed fiercely.
The priest took Kalen's hands and paid him the same obeisance, to which Kalen nodded.
When the acolyte had gone, Myrin's eyes roved the crowded nobles, as though searching for someone. She found something far more interesting. 'Food, Kalen!' Myrin gasped. 'Look at all the food!'
